


The trial of Sherlock Holmes

by eighthoctave



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asperger's Sherlock, Autistic Sherlock, Big Brother Mycroft, Gen, Mycroft Being a Good Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighthoctave/pseuds/eighthoctave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at how Autistic Sherlock would react to his hearing about the murder of CAM.<br/>And a gratuitous pile of Holmes brothers headcanony fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The trial of Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: Use of the R word, allusions to bullying, self injurious behaviour, ablism

To be fair, he’d been nervous all day.

_No need to be nervous Sherlock, never any need._

 

A gnaw in his gut, twisting against his chest, pressing heavily in his head like the smog above London.

 

_Brother dear, Brother dear, Brother dear it’s just a formality._

He could feel every scritch-scratch of his suit against his neck, every knife blade rub of the label into his side and dear god he just wanted to be anywhere but here.

 

_Room 27 of waterside house, there will be 9 chairs Sherlock, 7 of which will be filled by your investigators, one will be free and one will be for you. They will be having lunch at 12:15 and your hearing will resume after that at 13:15._

Everyone was too loud, everything was too bright and God he couldn’t even breathe anymore.

 

_Brother dear_

“Sherlock Holmes I’m sure you understand that even with the status of yourself the severity of your crime still stands firmly amongst us and discipli _nary_

There were 16 tiles on the ceiling, 2 windows with faulty double glazing, 3 men and 4 women. 

_Forwards and Backwards and Forwards and Backwards and Forwards_

His resting heart rate fluctuated between 75 and 92. Under severe duress his heart rate fluctuated between 87 and 102. Sherlock measured his pulse rate to be 107 beats per minute.

 

_Mummy will be mad if you stim Sherlock._

_Father will be mad if you stim Sherlock._

_Stop stimming._

_Retard._

His sleeve was rolled up and his forearm jammed neatly between two layers of incisors.

 

_Too much. Too much. Too much._

 

One fist banged against his ear and the other ear traitorously detected the subtle hum escaping his lips.

 

“Mister Holmes are you okay… _you retard retard retard.”_ Blood against his fist, no quiet, no quiet.

“Mycroft, please.” _Please dear God Myc make it all slow down, make it stop Myc._

 

When Sherlock was 13 years old there was the incident.  
There had been too much change and too many kicks and punches and the acrid taste of dirt on his lips. They’d chanted it like a mantra _retard_ like it was the only word they knew _retard_ and he’d rocked and punched himself in the head _retard_ until Mycroft had come looking for him.

_Sherlock_

“Sherlock I need you to breathe.”  
 _Breathe nice and slow Sherlock, Mummy and Father are coming_

“Sherlock, stand up for me, it’s okay.”

_I’ll never let them hurt you again okay, I promise._

 

Tight, awkward arms wrapped bone crushingly around Sherlock’s body, the panicked hum tickled lightly against Mycroft’s ear.

“John, could you turn the light off please.”

“Not John.” Open palmed punches against Mycroft’s shoulders. “He can’t see me Myc.”

“Mycroft is he okay?”

_Mycroft is your brother special or something_

“Myc let go.” Mycroft loosened his grip. Eyes traced hesitantly across the younger brother’s face.

_“_ Did you never tell him Sherlock?”

_He has Asperger’s syndrome._

“Tell me what?”

“That he’s autistic.”

 

John Watson. John Hamish Watson.

17 buttons on his shirt and too many stripes to count, too many. Shaved yesterday, had sex last night. Forehead furrowed, concern. Judging. _He’s judging you._

There was a bang outside the room, loud enough for Mycroft to give a start and for John to break his stare away from Sherlock.

 

His fist collided with his head so hard everything went black for a minute and then it didn’t stop. He doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

 

_Mummy why is Sherlock hitting himself. Mummy make him stop he’s hurting himself._

Sherlock’s Father had made him the den when he was 8 years old. A weighted blanket, his ear defenders and his favourite teddy. When it had gotten bad, when everything had gone wrong and everyone was too mean or everything was too much he’d run up to his room, bury himself under his blanket until everything stopped. He could put his mind away, separate himself from the body that was too sensitive and too distracting and it was okay.

 

_You’re a grown man._

Smack.

 

_Stop it._

 

Smack.

 

John’s arms replaced Mycroft’s, tight and constricting, military sinews straining against the push of Sherlock’s biceps.

His eyes fluttered open at the pressure, quickly enough to watch and feel Mycroft jam a pair of headphones into his ears.

 

_Myc will you play that song again._

It made him think of calm and the faint smell of lavender in the piano room at home. Of evenings spent lying on the floor composing violin accompaniments for Mycroft’s playing. Hot chocolate and his den.

 

“Beethoven’s moonlight sonata. Piano sonata Number 14 in C sharp minor. Quasi una fantasia. Completed in 1801 by Ludwig van Beethoven and dedicated to his pupil Giuletta Guicciardi in 1802. First movement. Adagio sostenuto.”

 

A deep shudder of a breath.

Slumped shoulders and a relieved sigh from Mycroft.

 

“Better?” Mycroft rubbed his hand under his jaw and beckoned John to let go with the other.

“Better.” Sherlock nodded weakly and straightened his sleeves, pawing the headphones from his ears in the process. “I’m very sorry you had to see that John. I haven’t had a meltdown like that in many years.”

 

“No need to be sorry Sherlock.” Mycroft interjected and stared at John as if it had been a threat.

  _I love you very much Sherlock. Regardless of what those nasty boys said okay. No matter what I ever say I will always love you very much._

“Thank you Mycroft.”  
 _I love you too._


End file.
